Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Not ever.
So I’m curious about what Addie may have said to Skye. She knows better than to say anything other than we had a thing ten years ago.
“She didn’t tell you?” I ask.
“Not really. I’d love to hear it from you.”
“But you witnessed the interaction between us.”
“Yeah. You weren’t overly friendly.”
Does Skye mean the plural you? Or is she referring specifically to me? I don’t bother to ask. I don’t care, and also, Cory arrives with the oysters.
“No,” I say simply.
“A dozen of tonight’s best.” Cory sets the tray between Skye and me on the table. “Starting here”—he points—“and going clockwise, we have the Katama Bay from the east coast of Martha’s Vineyard, the Moondancers from Maine, the Molly Qs from Mashpee, and then of course the Blue Points from Long Island Sound. All nicely sweet and briny, and I agree, sir, my personal favorites are the Blue Points. Did you have any questions?”
I shake my head, take out my phone, and snap a photo of the oysters that arrived. As I was interrupted earlier, I owe my social media team a post.
Skye raises her eyebrows.
“Got to keep the followers happy,” I say.
“How many followers do you have?” she asks.
“Not as many as Addison, but enough.”
“I never would have thought you were the social media type.”
Boy, is she right on the nose. “I’m not, really, but people seem to want to know what I’m up to. Probably only because I’m richer than God, which still seems a little unreal to me. I’m definitely a self-made man. I wasn’t born into money like Addison and her sister.”
I’m not quite sure why I added the part about my being different from Addie. Though it shouldn’t, what Skye thinks of me matters. I don’t particularly care what people think, so this realization settles in my stomach with a weird jolt.
“Anyway, I never really got out of the habit,” I say, not quite willing to tell her I only post because my team tells me to. “You on Instagram?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
“What’s your handle?”
Her cheeks pink up again. “@stormyskye15.”
My lips twitch slightly. I can’t get over how much I want to smile a lot around this woman. I’m not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing yet. “Stormy? Why not sunny or blue? Or even cloudy?”
“Because I like stormy skies. They’re a lot more interesting than blue or sunny skies, don’t you think?”
Yes. Stormy Skye. It fits her. “I suppose I never thought about it,” I reply. “What’s interesting to you about them?”
“The colors. The gray that turns almost to green. The cumulonimbus clouds that stretch for miles but are fluffy on top.”
“Cute,” I say.
But I don’t mean that cumulonimbus clouds are cute. I mean that she’s cute. Her. Skye.
Damned cute.
“Why fifteen?” I ask.
“Because fourteen was taken.”
Damn. So fucking cute! “I’m tagging you.”
“On a photo of oysters?”
“Sure. We’re sharing them, so why not?”
Nothing like oysters at my favorite place with a new friend. #oysters #dinnerout #bostonsfinest
Good thing I’m not paid to influence like Addison is. My post-writing skills suck. I tag Skye and the restaurant and then put the phone away and nod toward the oysters. “Ladies first.”
She chooses one of the smaller Blue Points and squeezes a few drops of lemon juice on it. Then she scoops it expertly on the fork and into her mouth and takes a sip of her martini. Damn. I was looking forward to watching her slurp the oyster directly onto her tongue.
Fuck.
“Just lemon?” I ask.
She swallows. “Yeah. It’s perfect.”
“I like a little cocktail sauce.”
“Amateur,” she says with a slight teasing tone.
I meet her gaze as I take one of the Moondancers, dab it with cocktail sauce, and hold it an inch from my lips. “We’ll see who the amateur is by the time this night is over.”
Chapter Four
Before I can fully appreciate the look of surprised awe on her dropped jaw, Cory returns to take our dinner orders.
Skye quicky closes her mouth and scans the menu. “I’ll have the pan-seared haddock with mashed potatoes and fresh veggies.”
“Salad?” Cory asks. “Or a cup of our amazing clam chowder?”
“No thank you.”
“Great. And you, Mr. Black?”
“I’ll have the fried oysters with a mixed green salad.” In my opinion, you can’t eat too many oysters.
“Dressing choice?” Cory asks.
“A balsamic vinaigrette.” I hand him my menu. “And bring us a bottle of your best white Burgundy.”
“Very good.” Cory nods and leaves the table.
I expertly slurp the oyster I’m still holding and let it glide down my throat. Perfectly salty and briny, with the zing of tomato and horseradish from the cocktail sauce. An explosion of flavor on my tongue, but all I can think about is what Skye tastes like between her legs.
Sweeter and tangier than any oyster, I’ll bet.
Skye is eyeing me as if I’m starring in a porn flick.
Nice.
I dab my napkin to my lips. “Do you enjoy your job, Skye?”